


Gioco Stretto

by Emerald



Category: Moonlight (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-18
Updated: 2010-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-14 22:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emerald/pseuds/Emerald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For six decades Josef’s watched Mick shut down, closed off; chasing a feeling only to deny its existence. Now he's determined to jolt Mick out of his denial.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gioco Stretto

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 20 established relationships community on LiveJournal. The title is an Italian sword fighting term that translates roughly to 'close play'.

“En garde.” Josef taps the tip of his foil on the ground in front of him, and then raises it in position. “Why do you always insist on holding back, Mick?”

Swords fly; feint, retreat, parry, advance, the swishing sound of metal cuts through the air.

“I’m not holding back,” Mick lunges into a Prise de Fer, and knocks Josef’s own sword off line, “I’ve been helping you with your sword practice for the past sixty years, when have I ever held back?”

Mick doesn’t expect a reply. Already they’re moving into the next round of attack and counterattack, blades sparking as they connect.

“That’s not what I meant,” Josef executes a near perfect Quatre, and then launches into a forward lunge, the momentum forcing Mick into a retreat. “I’m talking about your emotions, Mick.”

For six decades Josef’s watched Mick shut down, closed off; chasing a feeling only to deny its existence.

“What about them?” Mick instinctively pulls his sword in closer to his body, wielding it like a shield.

“The fact that you don’t seem to have any.” Josef grins, and arches a facetious eyebrow, rapid-fire tapping at Mick’s blade to try and provoke a response.

“Yes, I do,” Mick scoffs, on the defensive now, blocking Josef’s attack as best he can, “I’m just selective with who I show them to.”

“So that’s why your last two relationships failed.” Josef presses forward, backing Mick into the wall behind them.

“They didn’t fail,” Mick crouches sightly, swaps his sword from one hand to the other, and back again, prepared for close range combat, “they just didn’t work out.”

Josef snorts a derisive laugh, and considers asking Mick to explain the difference. Mick’s straightening up then, his sword held more solidly in his hand, the tip pointed towards Josef.

“Besides, you can talk,” Josef hears Mick saying to him then.

“We’re not talking about me, Mick.” Josef lowers his sword, and places one hand on his hip, adopting an indignant air.

“We are now.”

It’s Mick’s turn to grin then, catching Josef off guard as he begins his advance; remise, ballestra, coupe. Josef quickly recovers, begins to precision match the movements of Mick’s sword, expertly parrying Mick’s attack.

“How long, Josef?”

“How long for what, Mick?”

“How long have you been trying to hide your own feelings for me?”

They’re moving in a perfect symmetry of denial then, Mick still advancing, Josef in retreat. And then Mick shifts into a false Flèche, traps Josef’s blade with his own, using the forward momentum to press Josef back against the opposite side wall.

“I can smell your arousal from ten feet away,” Mick’s hands are locked with Josef’s, their swords both held out to one side, blades vertical. Mick leans in close, scents the line of Josef’s throat, presses his nose against the pulse point, “I can hear the rhythm of your heartbeat change whenever I walk into the room. If I’m in denial, then so are you.”

“Touché,” Josef swallows anticipation, searching for a distraction, anything to change the course of where this is heading. And then he’s moving on impulse; his lips pressed firmly against Mick’s own.

And Mick’s kissing him back, their mouths locked together in a carefully orchestrated tango of lips, and fangs.

Josef’s caught by surprise, he’d expected Mick to recoil, step back, wipe the kiss from his mouth, perhaps even spit out his distaste.

The sword drops from Josef’s hand then, his arms go around Mick’s waist, drawing him closer.

“What are we doing?” Mick lets go of the sword in his own hand, breaks the kiss just long enough to rasp out those words, his cheek brushing Josef’s as they sway in time to an imagined beat.

“You tell me.”

Later they’ll notice the way their swords have fallen symmetrical, lined up with another, each pointed the same way in an uncanny parallel. Maybe they’ll take it as a sign. For now though their thoughts focus only on the present, and the feeling of electricity that courses through both their bodies as sixty years of pent up denial, and emotions are finally bought to the surface, and released.

Josef’s hands slip under Mick’s t-shirt, exploring the musculature of his back. Mick’s riding up against him then, grinding the hardness of his length against Josef’s own. Josef groans, lifts one leg, and wraps it around Mick’s waist, trying to increase the area of contact.

“Oh Jesus, Mick,” Josef’s face is buried against the side of Mick’s neck then, his groans of approval changing to deep seated growls. He can feel Mick’s heartbeat through his skin; brushes his lips across the area, pricks it gently with his fangs, chases the tiny rivulets of blood drawn with his tongue.

Josef wonders a moment if this is another one of Mick’s ploys at denial, physicality used as a deflection. He’d been cutting too close before, could feel it, sensed it in the way Mick retreated first on the defensive, and then advanced on the attack.

And then as if by chance or divine providence, Josef doesn’t care which, Mick answers his unspoken contemplation.

“You’re not the only one who can keep secrets you know.”

The briefest of glances exchanged, their symmetry of denial changing to acknowledgment in a single look. And then Josef’s hands are tugging at the back of Mick’s t-shirt, pulling it over Mick’s head.

For a moment Josef thinks to ask how far Mick’s willing to go, the thought quickly pushed aside as he feels Mick’s own hands working feverishly along the line of his shirt front, undoing buttons, and then slipping the garment from Josef’s shoulders.

They groan in unison at the lack of contact as they step back, finish shedding their clothes, coming back together in another heated clash of lips, and fangs when they’re done.

“How long, Josef?” Mick’s fingers curl around the base of Josef’s cock.

“ _You’re the one holding it, you tell me,_ ” Josef’s tempted to respond, instead his voice raises an octave, filled with nerves as he consciously refrains from falling back on his usual cover of rapid fire wit.

“Longer than I’m willing to admit.”

Mick groans another round of approval as he feels Josef’s hand begin to stroke along his own length. He shifts to the floor then, pulling Josef down with him.

“How long?” Mick repeats the question, needing to hear a more substantial answer than the one Josef’s just given him.

“This isn’t about my denial, Mick.”

They tangle themselves up in each other’s arms, legs hooked over, and around one another’s.

“Yeah it is. I have to know if this is worth the risk. I need to know whether I’ll be walking away at the end or not. I need…”

“…it’s been sixty years. “

Mick reels slightly at Josef’s answer. So many wasted years had passed them by, Josef hiding, him chasing dreams of emotion one minute, and then letting go the next, first Coraline, and then Beth.

And always he’d circled back to his island state; a man cast adrift by his own choice. Hope had seemed too dangerous an emotion to hang on to. Hope meant risk, Hope meant betrayal, a man on his wedding night receiving a dread gift he had neither wanted nor asked for. Better to be that rock, that island adrift; better not to hope at all.

 _Until now…_

Mick feels beads of perspiration form on his brow; Josef’s own body diffused with sweat, holds tight against his.And still Mick wonders if it’s worth the risk. It feels dangerous to be this close, this connected. He’d felt that way with the others, before the walls had gone back up.

Josef’s head is between Mick’s legs then, his hands pushing under Mick’s thighs, urging Mick to draw his knees up. Mick loses himself in a haze of arousal, his fingers digging into Josef’s skull as Josef’s tongue presses rhythmically against his hole.

And – “Oh fuck, yeah” – this is worth it. Mick’s riding on the edge of forever, whimpering at the sensation of Josef’s tongue penetrating him now. It feels like liquid fire, sparks are shooting along his spine, and it’s all Mick can do to resist the urge to grab hold of his cock, and bring himself over the line.

Josef shifts back up along Mick’s body, ignores the sounds of frustration Mick makes as he does so. His lips are pressed against Mick’s ear.

“Why now, Mick?”

Why now, why after all these years of resistance, pretending your emotions don’t matter.

Mick works his fangs distractedly across his lower lip. He can’t answer that question, doesn’t know where to begin.

“You’re the one who started this whole thing,” Mick falls back on his defences then, “Why don’t you answer that question yourself.”

“This isn’t about me,” Josef’s hips move in slow, languid circles, his crotch rubbing against Mick’s own. He pauses, and runs the edge of his tongue along Mick’s throat like a knife blade, “Did you think I was going to risk my own emotions trying to inhabit an island in the middle of nowhere.”

And yet here we both are, Mick thinks, half choking at Josef’s analogy. Josef’s reading him like an open book now, making his measure page by page. And still he responds to Josef’s touch, doesn’t think to pull away; not this time; not even when Josef presses his lips once more against Mick’s ear, and asks if he can fuck him.

“You’re right,” Mick nods his consent as he hooks his legs over Josef’s shoulders, giving him room to manoeuvre, “this isn’t about me, it’s about us.”

For the first time Mick looks at Josef direct then, his gaze lingering with Josef’s own.

“Stay with me,” Josef whispers as he hurriedly spits into the palm of his hand, coats his length with saliva. And he wonders if Mick’s ever done this before as he begins to penetrate his space.

“Once, in New Orleans, it was Coraline’s idea,” Mick hisses, draws sharp breaths as he tries to relax through the initial pain. “Never like this though.”

 _Never with someone I love…_

“And, did you enjoy it?” Josef arches a curious eyebrow, and keeps a careful watch on Mick’s expression, studying Mick’s face for signs of when he needed to slow down.

Mick shakes his head, “No”; his fangs draw blood as he bites through his lower lip this time. He doesn’t offer details. Somehow he knows it will be different this time; Josef cares enough not to hurt him. Mick’s mind is still processing his previous thoughts, when he realises what he’s already known.

 _Josef loves him._

And just for a moment Mick wonders how on earth they went from sword practice, to this. Josef’s cock is all the way inside him then. He unhooks his legs from Josef’s shoulders, wraps them around Josef’s waist, shivers and gasps as Josef withdraws just enough to thrust back in again, gradually builds a steady rhythm.

Mick clings to Josef’s back, digs sharp fingers into muscled flesh. And it’s all he can do to hang on as Josef adjusts the angle of penetration, and begins nailing his prostate, over and over again; Mick’s vocalisations of pleasure swallowed by Josef’s lips pressed once more against his own then.

Mick deepens the kiss, growls into Josef’s mouth, the reverberations moving through Josef’s chest. And then Josef’s raising himself up onto outstretched arms. Fangs bared he loses control, thrusts harder now; the pace shifting frantic as he throws a hand onto Mick’s cock, jerks along Mick’s length in rapid fire succession.

And that’s when Mick comes, time enough to feel the first waves hit as he reaches for Josef in desperation; their mouths locked together then, fangs penetrating, tasting the blood that flows between them.

“Jesus, Mick.” Josef repeats his refrain from before, and then relaxes his arms, feels Mick still shaking beneath him as he withdraws, and let’s Mick take the weight of his body stretched out on top of him awhile.

“I need a cigarette after that,” Mick chuckles, smiles when he feels Josef’s hand stroking the side of his face. There’s a tenderness between them he knows has always been there.

“I’ve got some in my bag.” Josef replies casually, as he places a quick kiss on Mick’s lips, and gets to his feet. “Here.” Josef returns with the packet in his hand already outstretched, a cigarette extended for Mick to take.

“Thanks.” Mick doesn’t think to ask why Josef is carrying cigarettes on him; he assumes it’s one of Josef’s many rules of preparation.

“ _You never know when someone will ask you for a light or a smoke, Mick, it pays to be prepared; especially if the askee is AB negative._ ”

Mick rolls onto his back, places the end of the cigarette in his mouth, waits for Josef to light the tip; one arm tucked behind his head then as he drags , holds it, and then exhales. The nicotine has no effect, he smokes for the same reason he orders his coffee strong, and piping hot; it’s the remembrance of mortality he’s after.

“How are you feeling?” Josef asks then as he resumes his position alongside this time.

Mick’s hands still tremble slightly as he takes another drag of the cigarette, his body still humming with residual aftershocks of pleasure. And still he’s surprised at how easy things are between them.

“I’m okay.” Mick nods once, repeats those words. And then he’s stubbing the cigarette out on the floor, and turning to face Josef, “So where to now?” Mick shifts in close, presses his forehead against Josef’s own, smiles once more when he feels Josef’s hand caressing the back of his neck, tendrils of Mick’s hair wrapped around his fingers.

“You’ve got some work to do first, boy-o,” Josef arches a quicks eyebrow, and offers Mick a crooked smile, a trademark he’s picked up from years spent in Mick’s company. “I’m not Coraline, or Beth you know. You don’t get to pretend I don’t exist, along with your feelings, if things get too real.”

“ _This is already about as real as it’s gonna get_ ,” Mick’s tempted to answer. Instead he waits for Josef to roll onto his back, and then moves into his arms.

“We are going somewhere though, aren’t we?”

“I’d like to think so.”

Mick smiles his approval, rests his head against Josef’s chest, and listens to the sound of Josef’s blood-fuelled heart. And then he’s getting to his feet, pulling Josef up with him, fetching their swords from the ground where they fell in unison.

“Here,” Mick smiles as he throws Josef his sword, and then taps his own on the ground in front of him.

“Engarde.”


End file.
